


Helping and Hindering

by ThamesNymph



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nothing Drastic, gratuitous use of Jane Austen quotes, some violence i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThamesNymph/pseuds/ThamesNymph
Summary: Geralt doesn't need any help. Which is lucky, because Jaskier is far more of a hindrance. Just Geralt and Jaskier wandering around being idiots in love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	1. In which Jaskier accidentally tells Geralt that he's beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe how funny the relationship between Geralt and Jaskier was in this trash show. I haven't read the books, just watched the show. This is just about these two wandering around being stupid, as in Jaskier being completely useless and Geralt being completely oblivious. The only structuring principle of this story is the use of Jane Austen (or Austen adaptation) quotes in each chapter because who knows about true love if it isn't Jane Austen?

Geralt did not need a travelling companion, but Jaskier left him little choice. He just tagged along. Besides, he assured Geralt earnestly that he would be astonish Geralt with his usefulness. Jaskier was not useful. He hated walking long distances. He didn’t know how to light a proper fire. He had no idea how to hunt. He whined ceaselessly about sleeping on the ground. He fussed about his clothes getting dirty. All this Geralt found out only within a week of travelling with him, before anything serious had even occurred.

Jaskier continued to prove his uselessness when Geralt was asked to deal with a wyvern. 

Geralt killed the monster, but not before it managed to tear through his armour and slash his shoulder badly. He stood over the still-writhing corpse of the creature, feeling his own blood flow rapidly from his wound. In an effort to stop it, he sank to the ground, clumsily undid his armour with one hand and, tearing his shirt, pressed the cloth against the wound. Then he lay back and waited for the bleeding to stop.

‘Geralt? Oh fuck, oh fuck, Geralt talk to me! Are you dead? _Fuck_ , Geralt, please don’t be dead. Shit shit shit. Oh _shit_ , you’re dead, what the _fuck_ , Geralt?’

Jaskier’s worried, flustered voice babbled above him, breathing rapid and panicked. Geralt opened a sliver of a gold eye.

‘Jaskier,’ he growled, ‘shut up.’

‘You’re alive!’ Jaskier slumped down on the forest floor by his side, apparently for once heedless of his nice trousers. ‘What a relief! Are you alright?’

‘Yes, I’m lying on the ground trying to stop my shoulder bleeding because I’m perfectly fine, Jaskier.’

‘Ah, sarcasm, that’s good, I mean, that is a good sign, right? Okay, sorry, what can I do?’

‘Get some water and clean cloth, if we have such a thing.’

‘Right, absolutely, won’t take a moment,’ Jaskier promised, and scampered off. 

Geralt lay listening to him, reflecting that he took about five times longer to fetch some water than any normal human being would. Eventually, however, Jaskier reappeared and knelt down on the ground by Geralt’s side.

‘Do you want me to clean the wound?’ he asked. ‘I’m really good at this sort of thing. Well, I haven’t actually cleaned any wounds, but I’m told I’m wonderful at cheering up sick people. I once helped nurse a sick great-aunt, she _did_ die, but I think my lute-playing helped brighten her last moments on this earth – ‘

‘I’m sure she saw death as a welcome alternative to your playing,’ Geralt snapped.

Jaskier bristled. ‘Being injured does _not_ improve your sparkling personality,’ he informed Geralt. ‘Now do you want my help?’

Geralt reflected that it would be convenient to have someone clean the cut on his shoulder, since it was rather difficult to do it himself.

‘Yes, go on,’ he said, and pulled his torn shirt away from the wound.

Jaskier looked down at his shoulder and froze. His eyes became oddly glazed.

‘Will you hurry up?’ Geralt demanded. No reaction from Jaskier. ‘Hey! Wake up! What’s the matter with you?’

‘Oh, _fuck_ ,’ Jaskier moaned and staggered to his feet.

‘What _now_? Jaskier?’

Instead of answering, Jaskier walked, or rather wobbled, away into the trees and Geralt heard him being violently sick. Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he reluctantly sat up and began cleaning his wounded shoulder himself. To him, it really didn’t look that bad, but having clean it one-handed was an awkward business. He was almost done by the time Jaskier, looking very pale and deflated, came rather timidly back. Geralt looked up at him with a smirk.

‘And here I was thinking that you were getting fond of me,’ he commented. ‘Good to know I still have that effect on people.’

‘Oh, no, Geralt, it’s not you, obviously, it’s how awful your shoulder looks. Of course it’s not you, you’re _beautiful_ , I just didn’t expect that it would be such a mess, it makes me ill to even look at it – ‘

‘Then don’t look,’ Geralt told him, then saw that the bard was staring at the wound again with that same glazed look. He seized Jaskier’s chin with his good hand and pushed his head to the side. ‘Don’t look!’

Jaskier seemed to come back to himself with a start.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, _is_ there?’ Geralt asked, but he sounded more wry than genuinely accusatory.

‘I could bandage that,’ he offered.

It turned out that he could indeed bandage Geralt’s shoulder rather efficiently, and cheered up considerably at finally doing something right. By this point, Geralt felt well enough to walk back to their camp and discover that Jaskier had burnt the meat they were going to eat that night. 

Jaskier was rather put out by this new mistake, and lapsed into uncharacteristic silence. To Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt suddenly started laughing halfway through trying to locate some portion of meat that had not been reduced to cinders.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you laughing, Geralt? What have I done?’

‘Beautiful,’ Geralt laughed.

‘What?’ the bard asked, bewildered. ‘What’s beautiful?’

‘You said I was beautiful when you were babbling over there in the forest.’

Jaskier turned a very dark pink. He couldn't help noticing how truly beautiful Geralt was when he laughed. Not sneering or smirking (which he did, all the time, sardonically), but genuinely laughing. Had he even seen Geralt laugh like that before? He looked so carefree, so gentle.

‘I meant, you know,' Jaskier stammered, 'fierce! Magnificent! Come on, Geralt, you know you’re gorgeous.’

‘Hm,’ was all Geralt said. But Jaskier felt that he had indeed accomplished something worthwhile that day, if he had brought that sincere smile to the witcher's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in this chapter is from _Clueless_ , my favourite adaptation of _Emma_.


	2. In which Geralt's abrasive personality gives even Jaskier self-confidence issues

The next time Jaskier tried to help Geralt when he was wounded, he wasn’t sick, he just fainted.

‘You know, Jaskier,’ Geralt drawled, once the bard regained consciousness, ‘maybe you’re just not very good at this.’

‘I’m a quick learner, you’ll see,’ Jaskier countered. ‘It’s just that when I decided to join you on your adventures, I didn’t realise that I would need to be a fully qualified physician. Do you think you could try to get injured less?’

Geralt glared at him. ‘I do this especially for your personal inconvenience.’

‘I hope you know that your cynical humour is one of the most endearing aspects of your personality.'

Geralt didn’t answer. Not surprising, really, as he often chose to simply terminate conversations by refusing to respond.

Usually, Jaskier was fairly irrepressible. He assumed that Geralt’s silence, his air of general exasperation and annoyance was just his normal state. But now, in the prolonged, sullen stretches of silence, doubts started to creep in. What if Geralt truly didn’t want him around, just found him an annoyance and a burden? Jaskier had initially cavalierly disregarded Geralt’s mockery and ironic comments, thinking that it was just the witcher’s way of showing affection. But the trouble was that Geralt was so hard to read. Jaskier didn’t for a moment buy the ‘witchers have no emotions’ nonsense, but he was certain that Geralt didn’t express his emotions in any normal way, which he found incredibly frustrating.

Self-doubt had never plagued Jaskier before, but now he found himself looking for signs that Geralt genuinely disliked him and wanted him to leave. And once he started looking, he seemed to find them everywhere; in Geralt’s refusal to look at him, his exasperation, his slightly aggressive growl. The result was that by the time they got to the nearest town, Jaskier was close to tears, and Geralt didn’t even notice.

‘Um, well, I suppose,’ Jaskier said, as they came to an inn, ‘I should really find some court to go to and sing your praises. What do you think?’

Geralt shrugged, seeming much more interested in the ale than in Jaskier.

‘So I’ll be… on my way then. I’ll um… see you around, yeah?’

‘So long, bard,’ was all Geralt said.

Jaskier got blind drunk that night, and the next, and the next. He contemplated repeating the procedure for the rest of his life, but then he decided that singing about Geralt was better than nothing. At least he could still think about him. So he travelled on his own, on well-trodden roads, through rich towns, sleeping on real, proper beds every night, and sang his songs at courts, in inns, at fairs. He never expected to see Geralt again.

But four months after they had parted ways, Jaskier caught sight of a tall, cloaked figure at the back of a tavern. His heart leapt, the way it had been leaping at the sight of many tall, cloaked figures for months now. It was reflexive at this point, he knew that running into Geralt was highly unlikely. But as he looked, he saw strands of coarse silver hair slipping from the dark hood and his heart leapt so painfully that he had to turn away. _It's really him, and this is real_ was all Jaskier could think in dizzy ecstasy. For several minutes, he was afraid to even look at the figure again, in case he was mistaken. The disappointment would be too horrible. But when he did look again, he saw that Geralt (it _was_ Geralt) had pushed back his hood, and he could see his face. Jaskier had thought that he remembered Geralt's face perfectly, after all, he had only thought of it every waking minute, and a large portion of the sleeping ones, for the past four months. But seeing him again, there were so many things that he had forgotten, such infinite marks of character and expression that had somehow escaped Jaskier's memory. His face was both so familiar and so strange that recognition jolted through Jaskier like a shock.

Jaskier sat quietly in a corner that was as far away from Geralt as possible. Surely the prudent thing would be to leave. Geralt didn't want him around, did he? He wasn't sure. He still hoped that perhaps, Geralt would like his company, but that seemed an increasingly desperate hope. Yet he was drawn to Geralt like a moth to a flame. The desire to speak of him, to just hear his voice, was overwhelming. Finally, he decided that he would just go over and say hello. Saying hello was alright, wasn't it?

As Jaskier advanced across the room, his natural upbeat manner took over automatically.

'Well, well, well,' he said, sitting on the corner of Geralt's table, 'if it isn't my charming muse! How are you, dear witcher?'

Geralt raised amber eyes to his. Jaskier found that they were even more captivating than he remembered. _Damn_.

'Jaskier,' Geralt greeted him. The voice did not disappoint. Jaskier felt as if it was vibrating through his ribs like the strings of a cello. And the way his own name sounded when spoken in that voice...

'And what brings you to this lovely town?' Jaskier inquired, sliding down into a chair.

'Werewolves.'

'Ah. Dealt with them already, have you?'

'No, I wanted a drink first.'

'Well, anything new to tell me? Any glorious tales I can put into my ballads?'

Geralt stood up. 'I have to go,' he said. 'The moon is rising soon.'

'Geralt, how am I going to get new material for my ballads if you refuse to tell me anything? Come on, let's have a drink and you can tell me of your adventures since last I saw you. And more details, please, none of that "and then I killed the giant spider" rubbish, I need a full account.'

Geralt simply drained the last of his ale and turned to go. Jaskier's heart sank. So Geralt really didn't want him around, let alone want him in any other way. For all Geralt cared, Jaskier evidently might as well not even exist. He was acting as if Jaskier didn't exist already. Jaskier had expected this, yet somehow the disappointment was still crushing. He wanted to crawl under the table, curl up and never be seen again by mortal eyes. Or immortal eyes for that matter. He was so busy trying not to scream, weep or punch the table, that he didn't notice Geralt turn back to him.

'Well, are you coming?' Geralt asked.

'What?' Jaskier croaked.

'Are you coming?'

'You - you want me to come with you?'

'Didn't you just say you needed new material?'

'Yes! Let me just -' Jaskier overturned his chair and attempted to overturn the table in his hurry to stand up and felt that he might explode through the ceiling with sheer joy. 'Let me just get my things, and I'll be with you in ten minutes.'

'If you're not at the door in two minutes, I'm leaving without you.'

* * *

Jaskier got his desired material as he watched Geralt kill a werewolf from very high in a nearby tree. This seemed to be one of Geralt's more routine monster-eradicating operations, and to Jaskier's intense relief, passed with no personal injury (except, obviously, to the werewolf). 

It was far too late to go back to the town that night, and Jaskier lit a fire while Geralt cut out the creature's heart, which apparently was useful for something that Jaskier didn't want to inquire into. Jaskier was, in fact, greatly preoccupied. He need to find a way to ask Geralt if he could travel with him again, but he knew that it was perfectly useless to ask straight out. He couldn't just say 'Geralt, would you like me to come with you?' Geralt would either not respond or tell him to fuck off. Geralt seemed to work like a kind of weird being in a fairytale who had to be asked a question in the proper way before he would answer. So Jaskier had to ask if he could stay with the witcher in some especially convoluted way that did not involve Geralt admitting that he wanted or needed anything or anyone.

'Geralt,' Jaskier began carefully, once the witcher had joined him next to the fire, 'would I get in your way if I came with you? Lots of ballads to write, you know, and you _are_ really dreadful at telling me anything, so there's no way I can spread your fame far and wide unless I travel with you and witness your exploits firsthand.'

Geralt just sort of growled. Confusing response. 

Jaskier decided to be a little more direct, but he knew that he couldn't actually ask if Geralt wanted or liked something. It was sort of like instead of asking someone what their favourite colour was, you had to ask what colours they hated, and then assume that whatever was left could be termed a favourite.

'Does my travelling with you irritate and distract you? Because you've only to say and I'll get lost. I mean, not literally lost, but, you know, lost to you.'

'If you irritated me, I'd let you know,' Geralt said.

This was a _very_ encouraging response.

'So... you will only let me know if I irritate you? If you're happy with me being around you won't say anything?'

Geralt shrugged. Jaskier decided to press his luck a little further.

'What you're saying is... if you liked me less, you might be able to talk about it more?'

Geralt glared at him. 'Don't put words in my mouth.'

With a surge of triumph, Jaskier realised that Geralt did not deny Jaskier's statement. 

Jaskier turned his head away to hide his smile from Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (slight amended) quote is from _Emma_.


	3. In which Jaskier gets a cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory cuddling chapter

‘You’ll have to leave me behind,’ Jaskier declared tragically. ‘I am too great of a danger to you.’

‘Really? Exactly how great of a danger are you?’ Geralt inquired, sounding impatient.

‘A very, very, very huge terrible awful danger,’ Jaskier said.

‘Please explain,’ Geralt asked, in a tone that stated in no uncertain terms that if Jaskier did not explain, he stood in imminent danger of getting thrown into the river.

‘I have a cold,’ Jaskier told him.

‘And?’

‘What do you mean, “and”? I might infect you! And then how are you going to fight monsters? You can’t fight monsters with a cold!’

‘I can’t catch it. Now come on, let’s go.’

‘How do you mean, you can’t catch it?’ Jaskier asked, hurrying to catch up with Geralt as he set off down the road.

‘Witchers are immune to ordinary sickness.’

Jaskier gaped at Geralt in awe.

‘You mean you’ve never had a cold?’

‘No.’

‘Geralt, you have _no_ idea how lucky you are. Colds are the absolute worst. No form of torture has yet been invented that is worse than a cold.’

‘Interesting opinion. You should write a song about it.’

‘I would,’ Jaskier sniffed, ‘but I feel awful, and besides, I think my voice is going.’

As the day progressed, Jaskier’s cold got worse and worse. He certainly could not sing, and soon even stopped speaking. He really was losing his voice.

At first, Geralt regarded this as a great blessing. Delicious quiet on all sides, except for the ordinary noises of the forest. He could finally think in peace, without having his reflections broken in on by Jaskier’s incessant chatter. But strangely, he didn’t seem to have any very important thoughts. He found himself expecting to hear Jaskier’s voice at any second, and being disappointed in the expectation left Geralt oddly let down. The silence began to seem less blissful and more and more oppressive and empty. The very atmosphere felt heavy and gloomy. It was as if the sun had dimmed. By the end of the day, Geralt had to face the horrifying conclusion: he wanted to hear Jaskier’s singing and conversation and he felt bereft and miserable without it.

By nightfall, Jaskier was sniffing and coughing miserably, and giving off waves of deepest despondency. When they stopped for the night, Geralt gave him a potion that would at least let him breathe normally for a few hours, and multiple mugs of herbal tea.

‘This feels much better, Geralt, thank you,’ Jaskier said, sounding very small and tired. ‘I think I’ll go to sleep while I can breathe without coughing my lungs out.’

‘How long does a cold usually last?’ Geralt asked.

‘A few days, I suppose,’ Jaskier said. ‘I’m sorry I’m being such a bother.’

‘Hm,’ was all Geralt answered, but he was by now feeling so sorry for Jaskier that he was horribly miserable himself. Normally, Jaskier couldn’t get through a single sentence without some terrible joke or some bubbly, obnoxious comment. And he was always so upbeat and nauseatingly cheerful. It was only now when he was so quiet and subdued and unlike himself that Geralt realised how much he actually… enjoyed the normal Jaskier.

Jaskier curled up on the other side of the fire, but did not leave Geralt to his gloomy reflections for long.

'Geralt?' he called, lifting his head, 'do we have another blanket?'

'No. Are you cold?'

'Mhmmm. I'll be alright though. Good night.'

Geralt mulled this complex conversation over. There was clearly only one thing to do. He got up and went over to Jaskier, lay down behind him and put his arm around Jaskier's waist. He was indeed shivering, and pressed instinctively into the heat that Geralt's body offered.

'Geralt, what are you doing?' Jaskier muttered, half-asleep and half-incredulous.

'Didn't you say you were cold?'

There was a pause of a few seconds. Then Jaskier whispered, 'thank you,' and lay very still. 

For the next few minutes, Jaskier was busily offering mute but devout prayers of gratitude to whatever deity had invented the common cold. Then he spent the next half an hour listening to Geralt's fascinatingly slow heartbeat. Then he devoted some time to trying to memorise exactly how Geralt's arm felt, heavy around his waist and with a hand casually pressing him closer, how warm Geralt's chest was against his back, the light breath he could feel on the back of his neck. The heat radiating from Geralt seemed to seep into his bones and calm even his feverish shivering. He fully intended to spend the rest of the night cataloguing everything about this situation in meticulous detail, but unfortunately, Geralt had made him so warm and comfortable, that he fell asleep.

Jaskier's cold lasted for the next three days, and he faked a cough for another two in order to get to sleep with Geralt curled around him like a protective lion. But he had spent so long not talking that he couldn't stop himself, and eventually gave himself away by non-stop chatter, at which point Geralt wryly pronounced him cured.

When they stopped for the night, Jaskier sat staring gloomily into the fire (usually Geralt's job) and thinking wistfully that there was now no chance of getting Geralt to hold him for warmth. Geralt looked at him askance.

'Now you've gotten your voice back, aren't you going to sing?' Geralt asked. 'You always go on about how you need constant practice.'

Jaskier gaped at him. 'But you _hate_ my singing! You complain about it all the time! Are you sure you haven't caught that cold, Geralt? You're really not yourself tonight!'

Geralt looked into the fire thoughtfully. He was grateful the fire was there to be looked at, so he wouldn't have to look at Jaskier. 'Your singing and constant talking is unbelievably irritating. But I missed it.'

Jaskier continued to stare, dumbfounded. 'You - you missed my singing?!' he gasped.

'Very much against my better judgement. I suppose you can get used to anything. I've heard of people who got so used to being locked up in dungeons, that they couldn't sleep in a normal bed. Probably it's a case like that. Or like getting used to poison.'

'Are you saying that my singing is like getting poisoned and locked up on a dungeon?!'

'Yes.'

'But you like it?'

'I wouldn't go so far as to say "like", Jaskier. More like, you have formed into an irritating habit.'

'Geralt, are you _trying_ to insult me? Because I never know with you. Now you decide to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character. What is that? Is that a compliment or an insult?'

'Look, would you just play something? I feel like I'm not going to get to sleep without the routine of getting angry about how terrible your singing is.'

'Well, when asked so politely, how can I refuse?' And Jaskier went to fetch his lute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is, obviously, from _Pride and Prejudice_.


	4. In which Jaskier asks for details and gets help from Roach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory hair care chapter

‘Geralt, I am literally begging you,’ Jaskier moaned.

‘Well, what the fuck do you want to know?’ the witcher snapped.

‘Look, I need details! It’s all very well for me to watch you kill all these monsters, but I’m just an outside observer. There’s only so much I can do with that. I need an inside perspective. What’s going through your head when you …’ Jaskier gestured dramatically, ‘plunge your sword into a dragon’s heart? What does it feel like?’

Geralt shrugged. ‘It feels normal.’

Jaskier groaned and seemed to visibly deflate. ‘Yes, but Geralt, I’m singing to people who have never killed a dragon. “Normal” to them is waking up in bed and going to the market or to the counting house or milking the cows. Can’t you please be a tiny bit more descriptive?’

Geralt simply didn’t answer. Jaskier sighed. He knew that once Geralt decided not to respond, he might as well be talking to a rock.

‘You know, you’re really hard to talk to sometimes,’ he said.

‘Then don’t talk,’ Geralt said. Jaskier noticed that the sulkier he got, the lower and more gravelly his voice became. Fascinating.

‘I… can’t do that, sorry,’ Jaskier told him.

Geralt sighed and gave the hills a long-suffering look. They were passing through beautiful, sunlit country, following a broad, easy road. This was the kind of day that Jaskier enjoyed best; sunlight, open spaces, distant horizons, the scent of wildflowers and grass blown in from the fields. It made his spirits even higher than usual, and he wanted Geralt to share his happiness. But Geralt didn't seem to care whether they were travelling through the most unpleasant, gloomy swamp while getting rained on or a lovely sunny field. Jaskier cast about for some way of cheering Geralt up.

'Alright, if you won't tell me about the monsters, tell me about something else. I know, tell me about your amorous conquests! The wenches you've swived, the princesses you've seduced, the ladies who have offered you themselves as a reward, and maybe the lords too?'

Geralt did not answer.

'Come on, you must have _something_ for me,' Jaskier implored. 'Some salacious details I can tease my captive audiences with? What about your amazing endurance? Does that extend to the bedroom?'

Absolutely no response.

‘Geralt!’ Jaskier gasped, ‘are you staying a virgin so that you can catch unicorns?’

Geralt gave him a Look. It was the ‘ah, I see that you have a very strong desire to get murdered today’ look.

‘Okay, not saving yourself for unicorn hunting then,’ Jaskier hastily amended. 'Please, Geralt, give me something to work with!'

'No.'

'Why not?' Jaskier demanded, sounding exceptionally cheated.

'Just yesterday you were saying how important mystery is to storytelling. So there you go, mystery.'

'Ha!' Jaskier shouted triumphantly, almost dancing in delight. 'So you _do_ listen to what I say!'

 _Fuck!_ was all Geralt could think, furious that he had been caught out like this. He gave a low, dangerous growl that Jaskier knew meant that the conversation was terminated, and turned his head aside. It was probably lucky for Jaskier that Geralt didn't see the gloating smile on his face.

* * *  
Jaskier refrained from speaking to Geralt for the next few hours, wisely giving him time to stop sulking (or at least, become marginally less sulky). The heat of the day had increased, and it was now the hottest, drowsiest part of the afternoon. Jaskier felt that this was definitely prime dozing-in-the-sun weather, but doubted that Geralt would see it that way. However, he noticed that Roach was looking listless and walking slowly, which would provide an excellent excuse to stop and rest. Just as he was about to suggest this, he saw a river ahead of them, the road they were on becoming a bridge. 

Without a word to Jaskier, Geralt turned off the road and led the horse down to the water to drink. 

'Should we stop for a while?' Jaskier asked, 'Roach is looking tired.'

'Might as well,' Geralt said shortly. 

Jaskier could tell by his tone that he wasn't forgiven for the earlier conversation yet. How on earth, Jaskier wondered, could someone able to kill anyone (or anything) in ten different ways within ten seconds be so damned touchy? As he watched Geralt stroking Roach's mane, he had an idea about how to improve Geralt's mood.

'Well,' he said nonchalantly, 'it's fiendishly hot and I'm going for a swim. What do you reckon, is this river infested with nameless monstrosities, or am I safe?'

'We'll know once you get in,' Geralt told him.

'I know I'm safe, if anything attacks me, you'll come rescue me,' Jaskier said, as he pulled off his clothes.

'Wouldn't bet on it.'

'You can't just let some monster eat me, Geralt, it's your job to stop them.'

'If any monster ate you, it'd get poisoned and die.'

'You are being particularly unpleasant today,' Jaskier commented as he waded into the deliciously cool water of the river. 'Aren't you getting in? It's so hot out and I don't _think_ there are any monsters in here.'

Geralt seemed to have no intention of getting in the river. He sat on the bank and watched Roach idly. Jaskier had not foreseen that there would be difficulties in getting Geralt into the water. His plan for cheering Geralt up and getting himself forgiven had hinged on this. He had noticed before that Geralt had a surprising fondness for having his hair washed or brushed, and he himself had a completely unsurprising fondness for washing or brushing Geralt's hair. But it was another _thing_ with Geralt that Jaskier couldn't just suggest, like a normal person, 'here, let me wash your hair for you,' but had to just do it or trick Geralt into accepting it somehow. His plan had been to bathe in the river and then get Geralt to let him wash his hair, but this plan appeared to be scuppered. _Why_ was it so completely impossible to do anything in a direct manner with Geralt?

Just as Jaskier was despairing of finding a way to lure Geralt into the river, Roach came to his rescue. Something must have spooked her, because she bounded suddenly out of the river, covering Geralt with the muddy water she had churned up with her hooves. Jaskier heard Geralt's cry of 'Fuck!' as he leapt to his feet and jumped aside.

'Now you'll have to get in!' Jaskier called. _Thank you, Roach!_ he thought earnestly as Geralt started taking off his clothes.

Once Geralt had gotten into the water, Jaskier waded back to shore and went to fetch soap. By the time he got back, Geralt was in the middle of the river, swimming against the current away from Jaskier. He waited patiently until Geralt got back and waded part of the way out to meet him. When the water was around waist-deep, he stopped to wait for Geralt, coming back.

'Here, wait,' he called, catching Geralt's arm as he passed. 

Geralt didn't look exactly happy about it, but he stopped. 'What is it?'

Jaskier smiled and stepped closer. 'Come here,' he said, and raised his hand to Geralt's head, pushing his fingers into the white hair. This was the difficult moment, he knew that Geralt was fully capable to just shoving him off at this point and going back to the shore without a backward glance. He could almost see Geralt's irritated stare and hear his growl of 'what the fuck are you doing?' as he pushed him away. There was a second of tension, which seemed to Jaskier to stretch on for breathless ages, then he could actually feel Geralt's body relax, signalling acquiescence. Carefully, he stepped closer, working his fingers through Geralt's hair, undoing the cord that held part of it back, letting it tumble forward naturally. He loved touching the thick, rough mass of blanched hair, it didn't feel fragile or brittle like hair that went white with age, but vital, springy like wheat and coarse like a horse's mane. He loved the colour too; silvery, with the merest tint of blue in it, in the privacy of his own mind, Jaskier thought of it as 'star-coloured'. Geralt would probably either kill him or die laughing if he knew that. The soap was orange-scented, and he massaged it patiently in, pressing and rubbing with his fingers and the heel of his hand. He glanced with satisfaction at Geralt's face; his eyes were half-closed in contentment and he might even be suspected of smiling. He loved seeing Geralt like this; relaxed and still. He could actually see and feel his breath slowing and deepening. He looked just like a cat about to start purring. Jaskier grinned as he imagined Geralt's usual growls as purrs of contentment.

'Put your head under the water for me,' Jaskier said, glad of an excuse to put his hands on Geralt's shoulders and press him down. Geralt obediently bent to submerge his head (Jaskier grinned again at the fact of Geralt obeying his instructions) and Jaskier rinsed the soap out of his hair, feeling it fanning in the water, silky and floating.

They climbed out of the river and lay down on the bank in the hot sunshine, waiting to get dry enough to dress. Jaskier felt that companionship had been restored sufficiently to finish their conversation.

'Look, I'm sorry about the unicorn virgin thing,' he said. 'And I won't write any bawdy songs about you if you object, but it will be a great artistic disappointment for me.'

Geralt hummed noncommittally.

'And even if you don't tell me anything about the details of your adventures, it's alright. I know everything I need to, anyways.'

'And what is it you know?' Geralt asked.

'I know you.'

Geralt produced a sound that was halfway between a snort and a laugh.

'You don't know the first thing about me, Jaskier.'

'Well, I might not know your birthday (do you even have one of those?) or how old you are or... or what you were before all this, where you went or what you did, but that doesn't matter. It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. I knew all about you the first second I saw you in that tavern. All wrapped up in mystery and bitterness and... well, I knew _you_ needed _me_ to come and change your life. Or at least wash your hair for you.'

'You liar,' Geralt laughed, and something in Jaskier's belly jumped to hear that laugh that seemed at one with the sunshine. 'All you saw was a career opportunity.'

'You have seen right through me, Geralt. I only see you as a cash cow.' _And, you know, the love of my life_ he added mentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from _Sense and Sensibility_ : )  
> I found the word 'swive' in an early modern play once, and have been dying to use it ever since.


	5. In which Jaskier charts the phases of intoxication

'Geralt, I have never seen you drunk. You know, properly drunk. I've seen you not sober, obviously, but not smashed. Absolutely shitfaced. Utterly off your tits.'

'I don't have that luxury, Jaskier. If something were to happen and I can't see straight, that's not going to go well.'

'You don't have to be on the alert _all_ the time, you know. You can have some fun every once in a while. Or are you a really embarrassing drunk? Is that what it is? Do you get really flirty or something? Do you start giggling? Or singing?'

Geralt ignored the question.

'Alright, but seriously, Geralt, let's get properly drunk. Let's go somewhere safe and just get absolutely legless.'

If truth be told, Jaskier definitely had a plan. He was extremely curious about what a properly drunk Geralt was like, and wanted to stay at least partly sober himself to observe. Geralt was always so fucking reserved, maybe alcohol could be the means of getting through his defences, at least a little? It was the only non-magical solution Jaskier could think of, and attempting to use magic of some sort on Geralt was a bad idea because a) he would probably know immediately and b) it felt like cheating. So perhaps if he got Geralt willingly drunk, he might find out a little more about his mysterious witcher. There were a lot of obstacles in the way of this plan, the first being convincing Geralt to go along with it. The second was the fact that Geralt was, to put it very mildly, no lightweight. He wasn't sure what alcoholic substance would even get Geralt drunk.

Geralt wasn't saying anything, so Jaskier pressed his advantage. 'Come on, the nights are so warm, let's camp somewhere safe and get drunk. Please, Geralt?'

Normally, Jaskier would have suggested staying at an inn, but he knew that most towns and cities could not be considered 'safe' for Geralt. Someone was always either asking him to do something or else being a nuisance.

'Fine,' Geralt agreed, to Jaskier's surprise. This was turning out to be easier than he had hoped. 

They were about to pass through a reasonably large town, and stopped at an inn where Jaskier bought nice red wine for himself and Geralt bought rye whiskey, which Jaskier had never seen him drink before. 

It was almost midsummer, and the nights were short and warm, so warm that Jaskier barely even complained about sleeping outdoors. They found a lovely mossy hollow in a valley to make camp, and after making up the fire, Jaskier seriously addressed himself to his wine, but also kept reminding himself not to drink too much. Geralt was rather silent, and grimly sipped the whiskey straight from the bottle.

Jaskier quickly began to feel cheerful and warm and chatty, and wanted to cheer Geralt up by singing or playing his lute or snuggling up to him. He decided that lute-playing would probably be safest. He regaled the witcher with some of his more bawdy ballads, and tried to compose a few additional verses, but dissolved into laughter. _Shit,_ he thought, _might have drunk a little too much already._

'Will you just be quiet?' Geralt demanded. His voice sounded shockingly aggressive and even alarming to Jaskier, who had been pleasantly lost in a haze of giggling. Good thing he hadn't tried to get too close physically, he knew how that could annoy Geralt at the wrong moment.

'Right, sorry, _sorry_ ,' Jaskier said, mouthing the last 'sorry' to indicate his intention to be quiet. He put aside his lute and reflected gloomily that he had gone to all this trouble of planning to get drunk and even agreed to spend a night that they might have spent at an inn outside, and all he got out of it was an even grumpier Geralt. But perhaps Geralt had several stages of drunkenness, after all, most people did. Perhaps the other stages would be more interesting. He hoped the stages weren't 1) angry, 2) even more angry, 3) comatose.

There were a few moments of silence.

'You know what fucking gets me?' Geralt demanded. Oh good, talking, talking was good.

'What?' Jaskier asked.

'Every fucking day, I wake up and all I can think is, _What, again? Didn't I just do this yesterday?_ Every damn day, the same absolute horseshit. Everyone is being a cunt, there's some horrible job to get done, everything is cold or wet or filthy or all three.'

'Hey! I'm not being a cunt! When have I ever been a cunt to you?'

'Not _you_ , obviously! I'm talking about the people who ask for my services. They want me to kill whatever abomination is plaguing their lives and then won't even break bread with me. Barely want to cough up the money they owe me. All they want is for me to get out of their lives as fast as possible.'

Jaskier risked moving a bit closer. 'It's rotten of them, but they're just stupid and prejudiced. They can't help it. Besides, consider the alternatives.'

'What alternatives?' Geralt asked gloomily.

'Well, let me tell you.' Jaskier could feel himself start to ramble, but he couldn't help it. 'I had an uncle, well, actually, I might still have him, I'm not sure. Anyways, this uncle decided that he wasn't being properly appreciated. He thought his family didn't care about him and his friends stopped liking him, so he went to a sorcerer and got this spell off him that was supposed to make him adored by everyone. And everyone _loved_ him, they just couldn't help themselves! But after about a week of this, it started to drive him up the wall, and he just wanted to get away from everyone constantly trying to be kind to him, or sleep with him, or give him little presents. He became _completely_ unbearable, but no matter how awfully he acted, everyone adored him anyways. I know because I remember him very well, I was about ten years old, and I'd come up to him and he'd just yell at me to fuck off, and I absolutely _loved_ it, I couldn't help myself. It was like being told to fuck off was the most loving thing anyone had ever said to me. Anyways, the poor man went off to live alone in the mountains somewhere and hasn't been heard of for these thirty years. But I still, you know, retain a great affection for him, because I can't bloody well do otherwise!'

To Jaskier's great surprise, Geralt started laughing. Apparently, he thought this story hilarious. _Not my personal best_ , Jaskier reflected, but it looked like Geralt's stages of drunkenness might be 1. angry, 2. happy and inclined to laugh. So what was 3 going to be?

'You know, maybe that's why I put up with you,' he told Geralt. 'I was so used to adoring my uncle who just wanted me to sod off that now I see that as an expression of affection.'

Geralt laughed again. 'Come on, I haven't told you to sod off in... I don't know... at least a couple of years?'

'I'm pretty sure you told me to sod off last week. I think you just do it without noticing at this point.'

They both laughed immoderately at this. Apparently Geralt's merriment was catching. But then, even sober, nothing made Jaskier happier than seeing Geralt laugh.

One of the most immediate effects of alcohol on Jaskier was to completely obliterate any divide between thought and speech, which in any case was rather slight for him under normal circumstances. As soon as he thought of how happy it made him to see Geralt laugh, he started to say so. 'Nothing makes me happier than seeing - ' he began, but just in time, managed to stop himself. With terrific concentration, he reminded himself that he could think things without actually having to say them aloud.

'Nothing makes you happier than what?' Geralt asked.

'Um, I uh... forgot?' Jaskier stammered.

Luckily, Geralt thought this pretty amusing too, and they both laughed.

Jaskier told himself that he now needed to be supremely hilarious to amuse Geralt. He gathered his scattered wits and launched into a long story about a chicken attempting to build a nest inside his unstrung lute on the night before a competition, and his various struggles in trying to remove the bird. He didn't manage to form a very coherent narrative, but Geralt laughed a great deal over it.

'Jaskier, where in the world did that story come from? Why are you even telling it to me?' he demanded, a little (and very beguilingly) breathless with laughter.

'I don't know, you seemed to be laughing a lot, so I thought I'd tell you something funny? But see, I was right, you're having a good time being drunk, aren't you?'

'Hm,' Geralt commented, with his usual eloquence when pressed to admit that he was having anything resembling a good time.

'And, since you're in such a good mood, can I just take this opportunity to offer once tiny piece of criticism? A bit of artistic advice?'

'Alright, what is it?'

'Physically, you have the potential to be an absolutely fantastic cuddler, but you lack the psychological resources,' Jaskier declared. _Oh, FUCK,_ he thought immediately. _How much DID I drink? Where the hell did that even come from?_

Geralt stared at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. 'Right, well,' he said, finally, 'if that's all the thanks I get for trying to keep you warm that time you had a cold, next time I won't bother.'

'I'm sorry, I actually have no idea why I said that,' Jaskier muttered, attempting to extricate himself from this, 'you know how sometimes, when you're drunk, you just _say_ whatever stupid thing is in your mind. Especially if it's something you wouldn't normally say. Or maybe you don't know, I mean, there isn't anything you're afraid of saying. Lots of people drink to get the courage to do something, and you aren't afraid of anything.'

'That's not true,' Geralt said, suddenly serious.

'Oh, come on! I've never seen you scared to anything, ever. Go on then, what are you scared of? Are you secretly scared of centipedes or something? Because that is a very legitimate fear. Or do you have a weird phobia, like a fear of pastries? Don't think I've ever seen you eat a pastry, is it the pastries, Geralt?'

Jaskier felt his prattling sort of fading out as he looked at Geralt. He started to look morose again and looked into the fire contemplatively for a long while. _I'm assuming this is Stage 3_ , Jaskier thought. _Hope it's not just 'angry AGAIN'_.

'I'm not frightened of monsters, or people, or pain, or even dying,' Geralt said, his voice very low and almost gentle. 'But I'm scared of... losing things.'

'Losing things? What, like, you're scared you'll leave one of your swords behind at an inn? Or that Roach will wander off?'

Geralt shook his head. Everything suddenly seemed a lot quieter. Jaskier was beginning to feel almost frightened. This felt wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed Geralt to get drunk and then have a serious conversation. Geralt was naturally so reserved, perhaps he ought to have respected his privacy. For the first time, Jaskier thought that maybe it had been dishonest of him to attempt to trick Geralt into talking.

'No,' Geralt said, without taking his eyes off the fire. 'I mean frightened of losing people. Frightened of losing you.' He said the last sentence so quietly that it was barely audible, yet it seemed to knock all the breath out of Jaskier. He couldn't have been more terrified if Geralt had shouted at him. Geralt was saying the words that Jaskier could never have even dared hope he ever would, and now they terrified Jaskier. Because this wasn't meant to happen, this never could happen.

He attempted to diffuse the situation with an unsteady laugh. 'Come on, Geralt, you'd have your work cut out getting rid of me! What are you talking about? How are you going to lose me?'

'You have no idea,' Geralt went on, and now that he had started speaking, it seemed like he was almost compelled to go on. 'No one _ever_ wanted to travel with me, be with me with no ulterior motive, _ever_. I thought at first that you were a deluded fool, and would leave as soon as you realised that I wasn't anything like you imagined me. I thought that as soon as you saw me, saw what I was really like, you'd leave. Except you didn't leave. Or when you did, you always came back. My worst fear is that one day, you won't. You just won't come back and I'll never see you again, never hear your voice or your playing. _Fuck!_ ' Geralt shouted, suddenly, jumping to his feet and walking away abruptly, into the darkness.

Jaskier sat stunned. For the first time in their acquaintance, Geralt felt to him definitely volatile, out of control. For the first time, he was genuinely scared of what Geralt might do or say. Yet at the same time, there was an insistent urge inside him telling him to go to Geralt, telling him that it was vitally important that he not leave Geralt alone now, because proud and angry as he was, he would probably interpret this as a rejection.

Jaskier got to his feet (a little unsteadily), and walked into the darkness outside the light of the fire after Geralt. 

'Geralt!' he called, sounding to himself very small in the huge darkness. 'Geralt! Please Geralt, come back, I can't go looking for you, I don't have...' he gestured vaguely to emptiness 'witcher sight in the dark. I'll fall over a root and break my neck and OW! Fuck, that was a fucking tree... Geralt, please, I can't see you, will you just come back before I'm grievously injured trying to find you?'

Then Jaskier's heart attempted to leap into his mouth as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Bloody _hell_ , Geralt, you gave me a fright. Please, let's go back to the camp.'

Silently, Geralt leading the way, they went back to the fire. As soon as they reached it, Geralt moved away, not looking at Jaskier.

'What are you doing?' Jaskier demanded.

'Going to sleep,' Geralt muttered.

'Oh, no, you don't!' Jaskier pushed in front of him. 'Will you please just - ' he gathered up all his courage and put his hands on either side of Geralt's head, trying to force the witcher to look at him, 'listen to me!'

Thankfully, Geralt didn't wrench away, but he didn't look at Jaskier either. He just stood still.

'Geralt, I won't ever leave you,' Jaskier told him. 'You'll have to push me off a cliff if you want to get rid of me. I don't know how happy it makes me that you actually finally fucking told me that you want me around. Just when I thought I couldn't love you any more.'

There were several seconds of silence as Jaskier realised what he had just said. Then realised it a few more times. Then realised that he still had his hands on either side of Geralt's head. Like an idiot.

'Oh, fuck,' was all he could say, as he stepped back.

'You what?' Geralt said at the same time.

Jaskier had had enough.

'Oh, come on, Geralt! You must know that I've been head over heels in love with you since the first second I saw you! I've only been coming on to you for about a decade now!'

'But you just flirt with _everyone_ ,' Geralt said. 'That's what you _do_.'

'Oh, so you think I've been traipsing all over the world with you, wet and hungry and uncomfortable and in constant danger of immanent death because I was bored? It was because of you, because I wanted to be with you in whatever way I could! Even though I knew you couldn't care less if I fell into a ditch and died!'

Jaskier realised that he was shouting. A trifle embarrassing.

'That's not true,' Geralt said, and his voice was so hushed and subdued that Jaskier's heart seemed to quiver. 'It's true that at first I thought you were just idealistic or foolish and that you would leave soon enough. But then, I don't know how it happened, I realised I needed you, wanted you, to have you with me. I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'

Jaskier stepped closer to Geralt again. 

'Geralt, I cannot believe I'm asking you to be quiet after having spent so much time trying to get you to talk, but please shut up and kiss me.'

And they were reaching for each other through the darkness, Jaskier's hand in Geralt's hair, Geralt's on the back of his head. Geralt's mouth, warm and startlingly gentle, was on Jaskier's, and his lips were teasing and it was a thousand times better than all of Jaskier's many fantasies of this moment because it was real and solid and powerful and impossibly tender. Jaskier could have imagined the pressure of lips (had imagined it, a thousand different times), the feeling of being pressed against Geralt, the rough hair under his hands, but he could never have imagined the taste as their lips opened to one another. Geralt tasted, well, of whiskey first of all, but behind that, foreign and wild, unlike any other person Jaskier had ever kissed, of something earthy, like the scent of fallen leaves.

Jaskier began kissing with increased urgency and almost desperation, but Geralt was having none of it, he was so slow and deliberate, it was enough to drive anyone to madness. Jaskier writhed, almost bucked, against him, and whined his name. Almost dizzy with desire, he was tugging at Geralt's shirt and groping for, well, almost anything he could lay his hands on, clumsily, trying to reach bare skin as fast as possible, his fingers getting tangled in cloth and laces. Geralt caught his wrists and pulled away from the kiss to look at him with a gentle smile.

'Geralt,' Jaskier whined, 'come on, what the hell are you doing? I _know_ you want this, I can feel _that_ ,' and he pushed his hips up against Geralt's in a most pointed and obscene way.

But Geralt only pressed his forehead to Jaskier's and hummed softly. 'Not tonight,' he murmured, 'we're both drunk and I want to remember our first time, and I want it to be good.' His soft, deliciously low voice seemed to turn Jaskier's spine to water, but he had to admit that Geralt had a point. He didn't want their first time together to be a drunken, messy tumble in the moss, probably over almost before it started.

'Oh, I knew it,' Jaskier whispered, gloatingly, 'Geralt of Rivia, you are a hopeless fucking romantic.'

There was a second of silence, during which Geralt did not, surprisingly, growl, but only smiled.

'But I agree,' Jaskier continued, 'we should wait until we can do this properly. At leisure. Maybe with better light. It might not matter to you, but I want to look into your golden eyes while we fuck.'

Geralt _did_ growl then, but not with annoyance. 

'Let's go to sleep,' he said, pulling Jaskier with him into the soft moss.

Jaskier curled up against Geralt, facing him this time, nose almost buried in Geralt's shoulder, just as he always wanted to do, and with Geralt's arm around him, his warmth settled over Jaskier in a way that felt like coming home, and that he knew, as he fell asleep, would become deliciously familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to use the ultimate _Pride and Prejudice_ quote, OF COURSE.


End file.
